The Fine Line
by Anesther
Summary: There are boundaries to people as well as lands. Belle-centric; Rumbelle pairing.


**AN: This absolutely had to be done for myself. It's unoriginal, and has been sitting here since the whole amnesia episode but with the recent developments of Sunday, I finished it while adding stuff. Honestly, this is more analysis than anything on characters, just in story form. Scratch that: it's mainly Belle-centric. Also…I really do like Lacey. *gets hit with things***

**This is my first story for OUAT as well so critique is welcome.**

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_The Fine Line_

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Belle had always been one for adventure. In the warmth of her mother's glow, she'd curl into herself and listen with rapt attention at the tales her mother would spin and weave, either from her imagination or from the imagination of others. So, when her mother died, it was more out of a desperate need to connect to her beloved mother more than out of sheer pleasure that she would read. With time, she eventually remembered how much she loved reading for the sake of it and took refuge from a world who didn't understand her passions into worlds where anything was possible.

Despite her bookish demeanor, men instantly sought for her when she blossomed into a beautiful young woman, intrigued in her looks though they didn't quite understand her mind. Her father would insist she look at suitors and she would decline insistently and often. There was simply nothing about any of the men she knew that drew her in. She had met polite ones, boorish ones—even a few that shared her love of reading. Yet, in her heart, she knew that loving any of them would be faker than the wives' tales she'd listen to.

Finally, having enough, her father betrothed her to a man she only knew by name, having spent no time with him beforehand or post-engagement. He was likable enough but unhappy, though she kept mum about the arrangement. She had her stories and that was enough; a little piece of her, too, hoped that maybe she could learn to love this man, the same way her own parents had to learn. So long as it became something true, she had hope.

Belle was authentic, in love with possibilities, but still real. She sought to learn and was never happier than in her own dreamland. People feared that because she loved the kingdoms in stories more than her own, when she came to rule, it would be with disinterest, though they all knew her to be kind and benevolent.

So when the Ogre's War drew closer at hand, and thousands of men were being lost, she proved just how sacrificial she could be. The kingdom rejoiced from relief and cried from grief. The king had wept at the loss of his daughter, unable to comprehend how she could just be gone. However queer she was in manner, she proved that she was a princess who deserved to be loved and admired. Days were gloomier in the kingdom, a bright young mind lost to the darkness.

Belle cried as well, every single night when the noises died outside, birdsong a memory and the memories of her life burning her eyes to fall as tears. Her mind told stories when she fell into slumber, dreams with the fragility of spider webs but real all the same. In her sleep she found the comfort of stories. Odd that in the darkness of her cell she would feel more at peace than in the day, where she'd work diligently for the monster that whisked her from home. When the sun would break through her cell, she dreaded it, having no peace in the light. In the light she would see the beast for how he was.

Darkness would hang about him like a shroud, thick and heavy. The miasma was dreadful, turning her heart cold from the proximity of nearby evil. She didn't fear him—she knew he honored his deals and to break them would be to break himself—but she didn't trust him either, for other reasons. As a slave, she would be bound to do whatever he wished, and though she dared to break some of his commands, she knew he had boundaries. The problem was knowing how far she could go and come out with her skin still on her body.

But when he threatened to kill someone, her heart had had enough of the malevolence. It surged forward and led her to do the right thing, the way it always did. The screams she would hear were enough to drive her mad. She simply couldn't believe that someone could do such evil without the slightest remorse. It shook her to the core.

When Belle had to watch, trapped, she coaxed him into looking inside himself; a part of her doubted it would work, but he had to be good. He was a man once, right? He knew the preciousness of children, right? She simply had to try to believe and see that he had some humanity left.

And when he didn't go through with it, her heart surged again in relief, and she held him close. Though the contact was brief, something fell into her and refused to rise. It was a rock settling into water, binding her soul to the earth. That was when it began, though neither she nor he knew it.

The changes were gradual, softer than whispers, but she looked at him one day and wondered what it would be like to love him. Each and every single day, it would come, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind. Oddly, she didn't mind thinking such things. It was similar to the dawn, light scathing the sky until it became blue and cheery.

Belle learned something about herself—she could love, and love deeply; and love the worst of them all.

It was like her stories yet, somehow, it couldn't compare at all. She would sigh when couples found their happy endings, when they overcame a trial together. It was different when she experienced the same for herself. It was more than the flimsy wishes of simply just being together all the time, stronger than the need to make them one with you. It was all more than that. She found something in the blackness of his heart, gripped it, and never wanted to let it go.

She didn't love him _despite_ his dark heart—she loved him _past_ the dark heart.

When he was monstrous and violent, she knew she wouldn't—and _couldn't_—love him the way she did now if he hadn't changed. Vileness and cruelty never won her affection. She had to find the good—all she could love was good. It was as though her heart had to reject bad things. Her very soul quivered in the emptiness of evil.

But the changes were good and, more importantly, she saw it was not just because of her, but because of his desire to become someone better. Though she may have been the cause of it, every little step forward of progress was because he wanted to be.

Her heart nearly shattered as she watched him struggle with reining in the black. It took more than just the theft—he would have to show mercy to many others who dared to cross him or, simply, were too stupid to think clearly.

In the Dark One she saw the man that was hidden underneath the veil of evil, the true Rumplestiltskin.

And he was beautiful.

She mourned him in the darkness of her cell though she didn't know it for twenty-eight years. She would sleep when she had enough of the dim light, enough of the confusion as to why she was locked away, the shine and sadness making her eyes swim, and she would dream of tall dark things that held her close, dispelling the loneliness of her being, and murmured they loved her before waking up, with no recollection of them whatsoever, and it would continue. The cycle was endless.

She missed the beauty of real darkness—she could always hope for light there, where everything was blackest and find comfort in it. Here, where everything was cast in the eerie glow of sterile gray shades, she never felt less sure of herself than ever.

The woman would wonder not only why she was here, but who she was. She had no memory of anything. There would be glimpses of childhood—a woman who reads with a bright smile, looking at her with delight—but she surmised it was only her imagination, wanting a mother. Nothing felt more comforting than a mother after all.

She had to know who she was. So she told stories before she slept.

She would be a princess who rescued her people; somehow, she always felt she needed to do that. She would fight a monster, all teeth and rough, reptilian flesh, and there would be no sword sharper than her words. She was determined to win its trust with compassion. Everything had good in it and she saw that the beast was no different. It was akin to a rabid animal—lashing out with swift anger until, in the end, the only one who hurt was itself.

She persevered and won.

And, to the hero's joy, the beast didn't have to be slain. She loved it too much.

Then, she woke up, and her demon was there, kingly, arrogant, standing taller than any fairytale prince, and full of love for her. It was too much and her heart truly did break from the flow of love that she was feeling—powerful and immense.

Belle returned, eager to be with him for the rest of time. She learned about the world that was beyond her cell, saddened that she lost nearly three decades of life in captivity. But she was always one to be able to move beyond the past—she knew it only crippled and she preferred brighter futures.

Not all went well, of course. With time, habits could return if they weren't pruned and watched over. Her lover fell into darkness with her gone—she was his light and she knew that. But the black seemed to be stronger, in this world where magic did not exist in full, so it was harder to find. She knew, though, that he would try for her and try he did.

He was every bit the king she remembered him to be, soft and kind in the quiet of their room, loving her deeply and she felt at peace. Even when she struggled and he struggled to find life in this land that was stranger than any story she'd ever read, she had hope that he would come back, the same way she did, the same way she stayed the same for lifetimes because she loved him enough to never change if it kept him purer than gold.

Stories, however, can be written differently, if magic proved anything.

Belle was lost to nothingness and from the nothingness came Lacey.

Lacey was callous and crude, interested only in her own selfishness. She loved the decrepit, slow-crawling present and never thought of brighter futures. She never thought of happy endings—life was what she made of it and, goodness be damned, she was determined to savor each pleasurable moment.

For those who knew Belle, there were glimpses of her in Lacey—from the way she smiled to the way she was spirited and determined to get what her heart sought, quick-witted and sharp-tongued, though she enjoyed the thrill of flirtation. Lacey never thought of love or all the depths it could drown her senses in; she was fine with the shallow lust that permeated her waking thoughts and she didn't dream of grandeur. She was content with never wanting more out of life, the richer, detailed aspects of it. The broad and general niceties were well and good for her.

Lacey never read, never thought of stories, of making her own life a tale she could spin for the betterment of all. Love was lost on the girl who found the wrong thing.

Lacey found the right person, then, to fall in love with, but for the wrong reason.

Belle sought the light in the darkness, determined to breach through, but Lacey only loved the darkness, caring nothing for sunlight and magic.

He was bright in the gloom, heaving from wrath and flushed with the exertion of expending evil. She found herself drawn in; completely unaware that the light she had left was being sucked into the vacuum of space, extinguished slowly by her own darkness and his.

Charming was right—that, if love is true, it will be found. In the meekness of his wife and the dishonesty of his self, strength and courage rose through, gripped them tightly and magic was restored.

Neither party saw it, both riveted with one another's eyes, crossing untold imaginary bridges. True love was found, but the darkness swallowed it and perverted the magic of true love, the fine line between delicate beauty and ugly power blurred.

She neared him then, wine on her breath and skin, drunk on the intimidating sight of him, and he welcomed her kiss, heady and bold, both like and unlike the woman he can't get back.

For the Dark One and Lacey, Rumplestiltskin and Belle were just stories; reality, clearly, was so much better.


End file.
